


You Make Me Strong (But You Make Me Weak)

by bonsvii



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Catholicism, Feelings, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Break Up, Religion, Secret Relationship, but they still love each other :(, literally just feelings lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-11-09 04:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20847527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonsvii/pseuds/bonsvii
Summary: You give me life (but you're killing me).





	1. Part I - San

**Author's Note:**

> hiiiiii a quick disclaimer that some characters use religion (specifically catholicism) as a means of excusing their prejudice but i wanna make it clear that i know this doesn't reflect all religious ppl and a balance can be found between faith and sexuality/gender :)  
with that out of the way i hope you enjoy !! <3
> 
> title is taken from the real thing by wrabel

San didn’t think it was possible to adeptly describe the pain that came with being ignored.

It was a kind of hurt that festered like a wound, only got worse with time, became harder and harder to disregard. It _ ached_, ached like nothing else he’d ever experienced. Unlike a breakup, there was no closure, no moment of realisation that they weren’t coming back, no acceptance. He still saw Wooyoung every day at school, would pass him in the corridors, make accidental eye contact from across the classroom, share sad and bashful glances in the changing rooms. Wooyoung stayed in his mind, was a foreign object caught in a cut, buried deep underneath and making it impossible for any healing to take place. The painful flaw in this metaphor, however, was that, dissimilar to a fragment of glass or a shard of shrapnel — which would work its way to the surface and out of the gash — thoughts of Wooyoung did not leave San’s psyche. Rather, they remained embedded, ingrained, etched into the very fibres of his being. Wooyoung was inescapable, inevitable. San didn’t even know if he _ wanted _to escape. 

The worst part of it all was that he couldn’t even blame Wooyoung; it wasn’t his fault at all. 

Going into their relationship, the elephant in the room was always Wooyoung’s parents. Both parties knew that they weren’t exactly tolerant — much less accepting of — their son. Yet they’d been determined to make it work, had promised each other that it wouldn’t come between them. And perhaps they’d been naïve, hadn’t known quite what they were getting themselves into, but that didn’t make it any less real. San felt the pain of being alone more than he’d ever felt it before, the isolation creeping into his life at times he didn’t expect. He felt it when the class was asked to partner up and he’d still look over to Wooyoung, who he’d then see talking to someone else, a sinking feeling twisting his stomach into knots as he remembered they weren’t allowed to _ talk _ to each other anymore. He felt it at night, when all he wanted was to cuddle up to Wooyoung (who would have undoubtedly been smuggled in after dark). He felt it when he took the long route home from school, the one that passed by the canal that he and Wooyoung had always taken so that they could hold hands without fear of people staring at them; it was where they’d shared their first kiss. And where they’d said goodbye. San didn’t like walking down there anymore — it was filled with too many memories — but he did it every single day anyway, still clinging to the hope that perhaps he’d bump into Wooyoung.

He never did. 

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months and San found himself thinking of Wooyoung less and less. Which, in turn, brought about random fits of guilt in which he’d only be capable of crying, of _ hurting_, because he didn’t _ want _ to forget Wooyoung, didn’t _ want _ to get over him. But it was inevitable, his brain was hardwired to force him to keep moving forward even when all he wanted to do was stay put. He couldn’t move on, not when he saw the sunken look Wooyoung had: the purple tinge to his under eyes, the ashen tone his skin had taken on, the way his cheekbones had begun protruding more than San remembered they had. Worry coursed through San’s veins when he noticed these things, these subtle changes that nobody else seemed to pick up on, red flags that screamed to him that he had to _ help _ somehow. 

But helping would just make everything so much worse.

San knew Wooyoung would be in danger the moment that he involved himself, that Wooyoung’s parents wouldn’t take too kindly to it at all. Every time San laid eyes on him all he wanted to do was envelop him in a hug, hold him close, press kisses into his hair — _ god_, how he missed the smell of Wooyoung’s shampoo — and tell him everything would be okay, that _ they _would be okay. But instead he was stuck playing this stupid seesaw game; they were within touching distance of each other but could never actually reach out. The torment of having Wooyoung right in front of him but not where he should be, with San, was maddening. He supposed it was true that distance makes the heart grow fonder (or whatever that stupid saying was) but he couldn’t understand why that could ever be a good thing; he felt as if he was being torn in two, the rift growing larger by the day.

And San didn’t know how much longer he could live like this without _ completely _ breaking.

Although it wasn’t as if he was actually living. Nothing was the same without Wooyoung; nothing felt right. It felt as if the world was simply out of balance, was distorted, and it _ sickened _ San to think about. Longing and anxiety bubbled up inside of him constantly, making his chest tight and breathing difficult. It seemed like a sign that he should just cease to breathe at all, that that would be easier than having to go through every day without Wooyoung. So, no, he wasn’t living. He was just coasting by, surviving day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute because that was all he could physically manage. San was just so _ exhausted_. His heart wasn’t in it anymore, too shattered to have any hope of injecting the passion he once had into anything he used to enjoy. He _ knew _ the relationship was toxic, that he shouldn’t be this attached, that it would be a hundred _ thousand _ times better and easier to just move on, to find someone else. But he just couldn’t. Maybe it was naïve of him, maybe it was the result of his age, maybe he was just stupid, but San couldn’t shake the feeling that he had to _ hold on _ , had to keep Wooyoung by his side. Everything about the two of them together just seemed _ right. _

Because it _ was _ right.

And even if he was the only one who thought so, San _ knew _ that what they’d had had been special, had made him _ feel _ special. Nothing and nobody else had ever made him experience the unadulterated, uninhibited euphoria that he felt when he was around Wooyoung. Even now, when the sight of him caused San more pain than he could ever possibly describe, memories of Wooyoung made him smile. There was so much _ good _ in the boy that San didn’t know how it was fair that he’d been so forcibly, horribly ripped away from someone so pure, so sensitive, so kind. Wooyoung was such a fragile soul and so precious and so, _ so _ deserving of happiness. And it absolutely _ broke _ San to think about Wooyoung feeling the same way as he was right now. God, the _ guilt _ he must be experiencing; San _ knew _he’d be blaming himself, punishing himself for something that was as much out of his control as it was San’s.

And yet he could do _ nothing _to alleviate the suffering of the one he loved the most.

Or so he was telling himself, anyway. Maybe it was simply easier to give up, to keep torturing himself whilst simultaneously pondering the futility of doing so. Choi San was a walking contradiction, a whirlwind of self-hatred that manifested itself in his frustrations over a boy he just needed to _ get over _ . It shouldn’t have been a matter of how, but _ when _ he would do so. And yet here he was, crying again, chest heaving and eyes burning and heart _ aching _with the force of having to beat without Wooyoung. And yet here he was, still hurting as though the separation was fresh, because he didn’t know what he and Wooyoung were right now, didn’t know whether they’d ever be able to go back to what they had been, didn’t know if actually knowing these things would even relieve his pain. And yet, and yet, and yet. So many things were stacking up, so many worries, impossibilities, issues that they were beginning to form something of collection.

San was drowning in it.

He was drowning in the hopelessness of it all, the cruel squeeze of his lungs forcing air out in shallow breaths, head submerged and mind foggy, swallowing salty denial. Because this _ couldn’t _ be true, couldn’t be _ it _ for them — the end — there had to be something _ more _ . He was utterly exhausted of succumbing to this torment, of just giving in and not even _ trying_. There had to be something, anything he could do. Even if it was simply to find out if Wooyoung was okay — whether he was shattering inside as San was or whether he was holding up — that would be better, would put San’s mind at rest at least somewhat. But was it worth the risk? Were his selfish wants worth compromising Wooyoung’s safety? When he thought of it like that, the answer was clear; nothing was worth that. This was the chain of consciousness that his mind followed every night, repeating over and over like a broken record.

It never got him anywhere. 

But the seed of hope was there. It remained. No matter how many times he saw Wooyoung looking tearful in the corridors, no matter how many times he felt as if nothing could ever be right again (which was all the time as of late), no matter how many times the world seemed extinguished of all light, the hope endured, stayed in its place buried deep within San’s heart. 

And it glowed.

It lit his very core alight, was nothing but diminishing embers yet still provided just enough warmth, just enough to keep the fire in his stomach fed, just enough to form the beginnings of an act of rebellion. Choi San did not consider himself a defiant person, not in the slightest, but for this he’d do anything. For_ Wooyoung_, he’d do anything. 

And so he did.

And here he was.

Doing something.

Breaking away.

Finding his happiness.

Finding his treasure.

He just hoped to all the gods he had no faith in that it would be worth it.


	2. Part II - Wooyoung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took a while i've been prioritising other projects and didn't rlly feel inspired to write this :/

Missing San was the only constant in Wooyoung’s life. 

The pain of it lingered, remained steady like the ticking of the metronome that he once relied on for daily practice but that now sat unused in the corner of the room. He couldn’t bring himself to play anymore, not now that San wasn’t there to listen. Everything seemed meaningless now, fruitless, as if anything he did no longer mattered. They were trapped on either side of an impenetrable glass wall, watching each other as the oxygen was running out but being unable to do anything about it. There was no way to crack the glass — they were both far too weak from the struggle to even breathe. There was no way around the wall — it stretched on for miles and was too high to climb, if they could find any footings, that was. There was no way out. It was an impossible situation.

Until San took a leap.

Wooyoung hadn’t expected anything. Of course he hadn’t. He assumed San would hate him as much as he hated himself. After all, he was nothing more than a spineless coward, unable to stand up to his own parents, unable to do  _ anything  _ for himself. His entire life he’d just  _ submitted _ , given up far too easily and gone along with whatever everyone else wanted. His own desires had come second, always overshadowed by what he was told was the right thing to do. He’d thought he was being selfless. In reality, he was just stupid. And he was  _ sick  _ of it. It  _ nauseated _ him to dwell on his own feebleness. Pathetic. Yes, that described him aptly. What San saw in him, he had no idea. He just knew he wanted to cling to it, cling to what they had. Because it felt  _ good _ . 

In a world of fear, San was  _ right. _

And yet Wooyoung knew it was wrong. Everything he’d ever known had been upturned and flipped on its head when he met San. How could he feel this way towards a  _ boy _ ? His parents and his church — everyone he looked up to — told him it was unnatural, the result of some sort of perversion, something that not only  _ could _ be cured, but  _ had  _ to be. As a child, he’d never even considered the possibility that he could be anything other than straight, had squashed down his urges until they were so small that even he didn’t notice they even existed. In his mind, he reasoned that he wasn’t attracted to girls because he hadn’t found the right one yet, the one that would put his compulsions to rest. No such girl existed. Because Wooyoung liked  _ boys  _ and he didn’t quite know how to process that. 

It terrified him more than he could ever put into words.

The amount of repulsion that welled up inside of him when he thought about himself kissing, holding, touching San was  _ unbearable _ . He constantly felt guilty and so, so wrong for something he just couldn’t change. And believe him, he’d  _ tried. _ Every single day for who knows how long he’d ignored it, had resisted and been good. But how could hiding such a fundamental part of himself be  _ good _ ? The ridiculous thing was that he wasn’t outwardly homophobic. He didn’t hate gay people or anything, he just wished he wasn’t one. All that he’d been taught about  _ us  _ and  _ them  _ made him turn against himself, resent himself because he wasn’t in the  _ us  _ category, he was most definitely in the  _ them  _ category. And yet he loved San. He loved San with all of his being, couldn’t imagine ever hating him for something as trivial and inconsequential as who he loved. Deep down, there was just a kind of simmering anger that made him utterly despise himself. By this point, his Bible had more notes in it than original text, large parts highlighted and scrawled on in a desperate attempt to free himself from sin. Some nights, he’d lie alone in bed in the dark and just repeat verses over and over until he fell into a restless sleep, plagued by nightmares. 

_ Have mercy on me, O God _

The walk to church wasn’t as long as Wooyoung would’ve liked, feet dragging on the pavement, much to his mother’s distaste. “Pick up your feet.” It was the same every Sunday; Wooyoung never bothered to listen, not since San. Her voice served only to irritate him now, any respect for her that he had before fizzling into nothingness as every day passed that he was separated from the one he cared for the most. Besides, there was no love in her words, only a suffocating sense of superiority as if she couldn’t believe a son of hers would even  _ dream  _ of conducting himself in such a way. 

_ According to your unfailing love _

The Lord’s name was poisonous on Wooyoung’s tongue, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he sang praises to a god he had grown out of touch with. To everyone else in the church, hymns were a thing a beauty — graciousness in its purest form — but to Wooyoung, they were nothing more than a reminder of his failures as a person, a Christian, a son. A small voice in his head added ‘boyfriend’ to that list but he was quick to squash it down, willing it to go away so he didn’t have to dwell on his wrongdoings to San any longer, the painful separation being punishment enough without his own self-pity added to the mix.

_ According to your great compassion _

Wooyoung’s heart felt heavier in his chest as he sat back down, slouching down into the wood of the pew despite how cold and uncomfortable it felt beneath him. His mother shot him another look and he could practically hear her voice telling him to sit up straight. He pretended not to notice, averting his eyes to the front and once again putting up the farce of heeding the pastor’s words about forgiveness. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in the topic, rather that he just didn’t connect with the man delivering the information, not trusting someone who could preach kindness but simultaneously be so cruel, so intolerant and close-minded to the point of  _ hatred _ . It made no sense to him now and Wooyoung didn’t think it ever would.

_ Blot out my transgressions. _

At first he didn’t notice the presence, was too lost in his own thoughts to pay any attention to his surroundings. It was only when his father let out a grumble of anger and his mother a choked gasp that he looked to his left to see San walking right towards him, almost jogging so as not to disturb the service and sit down as soon as possible. He flashed a weak smile in Wooyoung’s direction before perching himself  _ right next to _ him, what little space between them closed by San’s hand coming to rest on Wooyoung’s knee. Wordlessly, he turned his eyes to the pastor, who didn’t seem to have noticed anyone had even come in and was carrying on with his sermon as usual.

_ Wash away all my iniquity _

Wooyoung felt lightheaded as if his airflow was being restricted; he forgot how to breathe for a moment as San traced circles on his leg absentmindedly. Though he knew it probably shouldn’t, a smile crept onto his lips as he stole glances at San’s striking side profile, eyes raking from his jawline down to his collarbone, which was peeking out a little from the loose jumper that hung off his slight frame. Confusion pulsed through his mind but Wooyoung found he didn’t much care for reasons at this moment in time, was just enjoying how his heart fluttered at having San by his side again. Unable to resist any longer, he reached out a hand, interlinking it with San’s, who looked at him properly for the first time since he’d entered, a grin painting his features. 

_ And cleanse me from my sin. _

  
Wooyoung would deal with the consequences of this later. For now, he was content to just  _ be _ , ignoring his parents’ grim expressions and letting himself enjoy this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading !! <3

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading !!  
comments and kudos are much appreciated <3


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